


Colonel Shepard, Australian Digger

by thelightofmorning



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Australia, Australian Slang, Barbecue, Big Damn Heroes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Implied/Referenced Sex, Kill It With Fire, Non-spectre Shepard, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reapers, Soldiers, Survivor Guilt, cannibal jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29907426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightofmorning/pseuds/thelightofmorning
Summary: Colonel Regan Shepard turned down the chance to go to N-School and so served in the Alliance Commonwealth Defences Forces. Unabashedly Australian, she gives the Reapers who invaded Earth absolute hell and plays a part in the galaxy's salvation. She even gets a hunky Canadian Major along the way.This is her story.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard
Kudos: 7





	1. Throw a Space-Prawn on the Barbie

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for death and violence. Porting over this story as one continuous narrative instead of a series in honour of Mass Effect Legendary Edition and as a gift to Felis79. Regan Shepard is pretty Strayan here, which sadly includes some casual racism towards turians in particular. She's a lot better in canon, I promise.

As a Queenslander, Colonel Regan Shepard felt a sour satisfaction at watching Sydney be wiped from the face of the earth by the Reapers after Brisbane Coast had been hit first. The 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment (Queensland Mounted Infantry) out of Enoggera Barracks had been doing war manoeuvres with a New Zealander battalion under Major Ngaire Parata in the bush when the giant space-prawns hit Vancouver and wiped out what was left of High Command after the Poms were toast. Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams had apparently taken the Normandy to get aid from the rest of the galaxy, leaving a last transmission for everyone on Earth to hang on, she would come back.

Regan wasn’t minded to simply hang on. She was minded to raise some fucking hell. And the Blue Mountains held Australia’s repository of eezo, assets she’d been commanded to deny the enemy. It was summertime, the trees dry as tinder under the harsh Australian sun, and she was going to make the Reapers _burn._

“Signals are set up, Colonel,” reported one of the Kiwi Engineers. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” Shepard admitted, probably not boosting morale any. “Give the order to fall back – and if I don’t come back, Ngaire’s in charge.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The soldiers, survivors one and all, fell back as one of the space-prawns pulled themselves from the gorging of the techno-corpse that was Sydney to come investigate the signals that hinted at a large Alliance presence. There _was_ a large Alliance presence here, but most of them had fallen back into the cave systems and old silos which dotted the Blue Mountains, only Regan and a small squad remaining on the surface. These were the people who accepted they may not come back from this mission… but making the Reapers burn was worth the danger of death.

“So, any final words from the suppository of wisdom?” One of the volunteers, some guy from Cabramatta who’d been accepted into the N7 programme the day the Reapers hit, asked dryly.

“Umm, uh, let’s throw a space-prawn on the barbie?” Regan was good at witty repartee (or the Australian equivalent of it) in the heat of the moment but coming up with something that would resound through history was a bit beyond her.

“That is so fucking clichéd it’s actually appropriate,” the guy laughed as he buckled on his helmet. “At least it sounds better than ‘poop train’-“

His reference to some antique video game was cut short by the Reaper’s beam hitting their location faster than Regan calculated; the other soldiers scattered as the ruby laser gouged the earth and stone of mountains nearly older than time. Now it was every person for themselves, everyone racing for the bunker that would, at best, provide scanty protection when the fire was ignited. Just because they were prepared to die didn’t mean they wanted to march into the afterlife.

Regan crouched behind a bulwark of twisted metal and half-melted rock, bringing up her omni-tool to trigger the charges. The Reaper landed, seeking the source of the signals, its single eye a harbinger of doom to anyone caught under its baleful glare.

**“Surrender and you will be given mercy,”** it commanded.

“Fuck you!” screamed Duke, a Kiwi who reminded Regan of the Pommier-than-thou sorts from the Victorian era, as he stood up and fired his grenade launcher directly at that crimson eye.

Through some grace of the gods or the universe’s way of rewarding sheer fucking badassery, the grenades he pumped out struck cleanly and exploded on impact, cracking the Reaper’s lens. It made a funny noise Regan assumed was pain and lashed out with a claw, turning Duke into red spray.

The charges were set and counting down, so Regan stood up, removed one of her bandoliers of grenades and triggered all of them. “Your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries!” she screamed, totally ripping off good old Monty Python, as she biotically launched the grenades at the crack Duke made.

The surviving soldiers joined her, firing whatever they could at the Reaper’s eye as it flailed, claws tearing through the remnants of the buildings they sheltered in. Taunts and curses rained down upon the space-prawn as the funny noise grew louder. When it reached its crescendo, the lens shattered and Regan heard the first explosions go off.

“RUN LIKE YOU’RE JACK SPARROW BEING CHASED BY ZOMBIES!”

Not the most professional of orders, but it got the few survivors bolting for the door to the underground shelter.

Regan was the last in and slammed the door down just as the explosion washed over them. The metal melted and provided a protective shield but they had the laser tools to cut through it.

She didn’t know if they’d just killed a Reaper, but she was pretty sure she’d done a good job of making it regret that it landed on Earth.

…

Admirals Hackett and Anderson looked like shit but Regan imagined they looked a hell of a lot better than General Jane Oates, who wasn’t even in uniform as she stood at awkward attention. This was the last of Australia’s high command, a thin, gangly woman whose keen mind was better suited to requisitions and organisation than tactics, but she was still a Digger.

“Fucking hell, Shepard,” Hackett finally said after Regan relayed her report. “How come you never went to N-School?”

“She didn’t want to,” Anderson said regretfully. “I made her the offer.”

“Well, you’ve given us the best news since Williams got the turians and krogan on board,” Hackett told Regan. “Shepard, you’re officially Oates’ second in command.”

Regan saluted while thinking _Oh shit_. “Yes sir!”

“Reports have it that the Reapers are actually moving out of Australia,” General Oates told the Admirals.

“We can confirm it,” Anderson said, sounding gleeful. “I guess Australia once again lives up to its reputation as completely deadly for outsiders.”

Regan felt a big grin crack her face in two. They’d managed to scare the shit out of the Reapers.

“This means we can shift the bulk of your forces to the New Zealand arena,” Anderson continued. “Reaper presence there is fairly negligible, but…”

“I’d like to be able to show the Aussies how professionals get their work done,” Ngaire told the man with a grin.

Regan considered responding with a sheep joke but the Maori Major deserved a better retort than that. She might need a few weeks to think about it.

“Oates, you’re in charge of the Commonwealth Alliance Forces,” Hackett ordered. “I want them in the North American arena as soon as it can be managed. The Canadians in particular are getting hammered at the moment.”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re all getting hammered, and not in the ‘let’s get shitfaced’ kind of way,” Regan pointed out sarcastically.

“But you and yours are the only ones on Earth who’ve achieved a victory,” Hackett said quietly. “The rest of us are trying to hold the fort so Williams can bring the galaxy to our aid.”

Oates cleared her throat. “How’s Project Crucible going?” she asked.

“It’s… going,” Hackett admitted with a sigh. “The Prothean designs are elegant and the salarians managed to send us some of their best to help us build it. But unless Williams can buy us enough time, we’ll be going the way of the Protheans.”

Regan assumed that Project Crucible was some kind of super-weapon and inwardly shrugged her shoulders. She was a grunt despite her rank and the fight on the ground was her concern, not what the scientific geniuses were making.

“Fine, we’ll kick the Reapers out of New Zealand and come save the Canadians,” she said aloud, wondering if Kaidan Alenko was still alive. She missed him and… well, she wished she’d found a way to make a relationship. There were ways to do so in the Alliance, so long as you weren’t part of the same squad. “You’re going to owe me a few beers when this is over though, sirs. I _did_ throw a space-prawn on the barbie for yas, after all.”

Hackett’s face went slack as Anderson grinned. “Did you just trivialise the greatest threat to the galaxy since the Rachni as… ‘space-prawns’?” the old, scar-faced Admiral asked in disbelief.

“Uh, yeah. They technically look more like the love children of robo-shrimp and bedbugs, but…” Shepard shrugged. “Calling them ‘space-bug-shrimp’ doesn’t have the same ring to it, sir.”

“Only you, Shepard, only you,” Anderson said with a chuckle. “I’ll spread the nickname. It might boost morale a bit. Anderson out.”

The Admiral’s image flickered and died, leaving Hackett’s colourless face looking at Regan, Ngaire and General Oates. “Good job, you three. When this is over and if we’re all alive, I’ll be seeing you sit on Alliance High Command. Keep it up. Hackett out.”

He cut the connection, leaving the three women looking at each other. Then Oates sighed gustily.

“I’m not the greatest commander. Colonel Shepard, unless your actions piss away precious resources, you’re in charge of all tactical decisions. Major Parata, you’re Shepard’s second in command, and if we both fall, you’ll lead the Commonwealth forces. Any questions?”

“Yeah, I got one,” Regan said with a wry smirk. “Got any beer? Barbecuing Reapers has made me thirsty.”

As was typical in Regan’s life, the General had beer, but it was Carlton instead of Fourex. Bloody southerners had no bloody taste in beer…

Regan looked up at the metal ceiling of their underground bunker and wondered how everyone else was going. Australia was lucky because it had a lot of empty space but the more densely inhabited continents were fucked.

_Come on, even the Aussies can’t fucking save the world on their own,_ she thought towards a distant Ashley Williams. _Come home and end this. Please._


	2. The Maple-Flavoured Superman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Kaidan Alenko, commander of the Canadian forces during the Reaper War, is reinforced by those led by a woman he's cared for since they first met years ago. Her reappearance gives him hope that perhaps they will win this war... and he gives her the strength to keep on fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Digger!Kaidan is a Vanguard (just seems right for him). Trigger warnings for fantastic racism and implied sexual intercourse.

“Alenko, I have good news and bad news.”

Kaidan continued to repair his assault rifle as Admiral Hackett delivered new orders. “Better give me the bad news first, Admiral.”

“Well, it’s on the heels of the good news, so I might as well deliver _that_ first. The ANZACs drove the Reapers out of Australia and New Zealand.”

The Vanguard-class Marine checked the heat-sink slot, regarding the radio from which Hackett’s tinny voice issued wryly. “I’m not surprised. Between the wildlife and the Diggers…”

Hackett chuckled ruefully. “They beat feet after Colonel Regan Shepard used the Commonwealth’s eezo deposits to… ah… how did she put it? ‘Throw a space-prawn on the barbie’.”

“I’ve met Regan. She’s the only one crazy enough to try such a stunt and the only one _skilled_ enough to pull it off.” Kaidan, never a fool, eased a new heat-sink into the rifle before adding, “I assume the bad news is that when she arrives, she’s taking command?”

“Technically General Oates is in charge but Colonel Shepard and Major Ngaire Parata are essentially the field commanders,” Hackett confirmed briskly. “If it’s any consolation, the Colonel said she looked forward to working with you.”

Kaidan refrained from mentioning that he and Colonel Shepard knew each other intimately. Even though they could hardly be held to the regs about fraternisation with giant robots unleashing a literal Armageddon, the information was none of Hackett’s concern. Still, Regan _was_ an exceptional soldier, Infiltrator-class with weak biotics who didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘quit’.

He only knew of Major Parata by reputation, but that reputation was a good one: the Maori woman was considered one of the finest soldiers in the Commonwealth division of the Alliance, someone who held her own in the open MMA competition held yearly and won three times in the past six years.

“What’s their ETA?” he asked, holstering his rifle. “Once this transmission is over, we’re bugging out. Only thing keeping us alive at the moment.”

“ETA’s now,” said a light soprano with the accent of a New Zealander; Kaidan looked over his shoulder to see a Maori woman standing almost six feet tall with muscles enough to make James Vega, reigning MMA champion of the Alliance Division, raw with envy. “Admiral, Shepard’s helping Oates organise the troops.”

“Good job, Parata.” Hackett saluted as Kaidan stood up. “Good luck out there. We think the next big push will be in what’s left of London, so stay alive because that’s where you will likely be going.”

Parata saluted as Hackett winked out. Kaidan was a fraction too late, not that Hackett would care. Her BDUs were tattered and torn, lines of strain and pain graven into that striking broad-boned face. “Tell your people to grab a quick shower and fresh BDUs,” Kaidan suggested. “We can’t take our supplies with us anyway.”

The Maori woman grinned, teeth flashing against her olive-brown skin. “I can see why Regan calls you the ‘maple-flavoured Superman’,” she laughed. “Standing for truth, justice and the Canadian way.”  
“Oh hell, I’m sorry…” Kaidan ran a hand through his hair, static crackling around his fingers.

“Don’t be. Social niceties are going by the wayside thanks to the Reapers and to be honest, we probably stink to high heaven,” Parata assured him. “Regan _did_ tell us to try and give ourselves a quick clean if we could.”

“Great minds think alike,” Kaidan murmured. “Be ready to bug out in three hours.”

“Yes, Major Alenko.” Parata grinned again and vanished from the bunker, leaving Kaidan to go in search of Regan and General Oates.

He found her stripped down to underwear and wiping herself down with alcohol wipes as she snapped out orders General Oates relayed to the troops. Thin as a rake – and never a curvaceous woman to begin with – her orange-blonde hair was brittle and lank, biotic-blue eyes sunk deep into her gaunt face. A far cry from the laughing, unapologetically Australian Digger who pantsed Kai Leng in a bar nearly ten years ago.

General Jane Oates didn’t look much better, but she wasn’t a biotic who needed so many more calories than other soldiers. Kaidan fished around his BDUs, found the three strawberry-flavoured protein bars he loathed, and handed them to Regan after tapping on her shoulder.

“If it isn’t the maple-flavoured Superman himself,” she greeted with a brief grin, weak as humanity’s current grip on Earth.

“Hello, Colonel,” Kaidan greeted, unexpectedly blushing. He didn’t know how even when she looked and probably felt like shit, Regan managed to return him to the newly enlisted recruit he’d been when he met her.

“Please don’t stand on formality, Major,” General Oates told him. “We’re all in the hole and Shepard’s running the show on the battlefield.”

He vaguely recalled the General being one of those desktop commanders; at least this one was smart enough to leave the job of ordering the battle to someone who knew what she was doing.

“General, can you do what you do best and see what can be salvaged?” Regan asked her commanding officer.

Jane’s tea-brown eyes brightened as she saw something she could do, so she stood up and grabbed the datapad containing their list of supplies. “Tell the soldiers to grab a shower and fresh BDUs,” Kaidan suggested. “They’ll feel better for it.”

The General nodded and left. Now he and Regan were alone.

“You look like shit,” Kaidan finally said bluntly.

“Not all of us can fight giant space-prawns and come out looking beautiful like you, Alenko,” Regan responded with forced joviality, though he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes.

“Shit, I didn’t mean… I mean you looked like you’ve been dragged facedown through all seven circles of hell,” Kaidan said quickly. “Not that you’re ugly or anything, because you’re not.”

Suddenly she was in his arms, weeping into the shoulder of his BDUs. Kaidan simply embraced her, letting all the tears that she must have wanted to shed come out while they had a moment of quiet. How close was she to breaking that a simple observation would reduce her, the strongest-willed person he knew, to crying?

When she raised her eyes to him again, she still looked like shit, but the spark was back in her blue eyes. “Sorry for being a sook,” she muttered.

“We’ve had a horrible time of it but until recently, I had someone else’s orders to follow.” Kaidan rubbed her back soothingly, feeling her fainter biotics crackle where they touched his. “I have some filtered water if you want to wash your hair and face.”

“I love you, Kaidan,” Regan said fervently before taking the suggestion. A few squirts of liquid soap and the rest of his water bottle had her hair dripping wet but clean, the dirt on her face removed to reveal features vastly aged by this war but still beautiful to him.

As she washed herself, she gave him a quick report on everything that happened, and he followed suit as she wrung the water from her hair. Then she devoured all three protein bars after Kaidan assured her there were a _lot_ more where they came from (she was the only one he knew who liked the fake strawberry flavour) and washed them down with the beer he produced from the fridge.

Clean, fed and watered, she looked more like the Regan he recalled, the Regan he discreetly kept in touch with. If this war hadn’t happened, Kaidan would have joined the other Commonwealth forces on Operation Southern Star and sorted out their relationship, such as it was. Then…

Not that there hadn’t been other lovers for the pair of them, but judging by the tone of Regan’s letters, she and he were both marked by their one night stand. An asari he knew called it ‘biotic resonance’ or something like that; all he knew was that he and this woman fit together better than they both would admit.

“The first cockatoos will arrive in Terran space in three weeks,” she told him.

“Turians, Regan, for the love of God call them turians.” Her casual racism was a little off-putting, but he could help her through it. Even _if_ turians were the biggest militaristic assholes in the galaxy.

“Fine, turians.” Regan scowled. “I guess I’m just not impressed with them fucking around and doing diplomatic shit with the krogan before coming to help us, okay?”

“None of us are,” Kaidan agreed. “Doesn’t mean we need to be dicks.”

“Yes, Superman,” the Australian sighed. “I’m glad you’re here. You always were a diplomat and Boy Scout. With this damn war, I stopped being nice a while ago.”

“We all have to some extent,” Kaidan admitted softly. “When this is over, I’m moving to my grandpa’s orchard in the BC interior and fuck the rest of the galaxy.”

A wicked smirk bloomed across Regan’s face as Kaidan groaned inwardly, realising what he’d let himself in for. Instead of letting her make the inevitable joke, he grabbed her again and kissed her fervently. Her hands grasped at his arms, pulling him closer, and the old chemistry between them bloomed.

When it was over, they quickly cleaned themselves up as someone knocked on the door to the little office in the bunker, then opened it: it was Parata with fresh BDUs and a knowing smile. “Now you two have caught up, we need to start bugging out,” the Major informed them. “Everything’s been salvaged – I must admit, Kaidan, I’m impressed with your people.”

“Thanks,” Kaidan said sheepishly.

“Welcome. Oates is taking us further north towards the Arctic Circle.” Ngaire’s smile was a tight thing. “Apparently Reapers don’t do well in those conditions, according to the Russians.”

“Good ol’ General Winter,” Regan murmured. Kaidan recalled that she sometimes read military history books. “I suppose if we can’t fry these space-prawns, we’ll deep freeze them instead.”

“My thought exactly.” Parata turned away and left as Regan get dressed. Kaidan armoured up, handing Regan his sniper rifle. “It’s cleaned and loaded,” he assured her.

She held the rifle up and sighted along its barrel, one blue eye narrowing. “Nice gun,” she said.

“Dad’s last birthday gift to me. We were going to go hunting this winter…” Kaidan sighed; he had no idea where his parents were.

“Williams will come home with all the menagerie the galaxy has to offer and we’ll kick the space-prawns back to wherever they come from,” Regan assured him with somewhat forced optimism. “And when it’s done and if there’s room, maybe I’ll visit your grandpa’s orchard.”

“For you, there’s always room,” Kaidan told her. “I’d… like to figure out what’s between us, if you do.”

Regan’s smile was like the first sunrise after a long winter, weak but warm with hope. “I’d like that.”

She then walked out and Kaidan smiled for the first time in forever. It would be alright for the both of them.

He would, however, need to talk about this ‘maple-flavoured Superman’ crap when he couldn’t even stand maple syrup…


	3. To Take Hell and Hold It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Apparently the Crucible hasn’t fired yet and they need a Space Yank to pull the trigger. Our job, as always, will be to kick down the gates of hell, hold the damned things open, and let the Yanks come in and say they won the war.”
> 
> Colonel Regan Shepard leads the Commonwealth forces in the Battle of London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warnings for violence, death and fantastic racism.

“Well, shit.”

How else could Colonel Regan Shepard of the 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment (Queensland Mounted Infantry) out of the Enoggera Barracks on the Brisbane Coast respond to the news that she was the highest-ranking member of the Commonwealth Division of the Alliance military remaining? Bad enough all forces had been hauled from all stages of the Reaper War for this final push to cover Ashley Williams and her team’s getting the Crucible into place. Now she had some cockatoo in her face going on about how he, Commander Somethingorratherus, would command her forces (how easy it was to fall into the mindset of a supreme commander) for the last push to take the stage for arming.

“No.” Regan kept her response short and not so sweet. “You don’t know jackshit about how the Commonwealth Division works. If I’m in charge, I call the shots, not some cockatoo.”

The turian got into her face and jabbed a finger at her chest. “I rank you-“

“Actually, Colonels rank Commanders in the Commonwealth Division,” Kaidan Alenko, a Major from the Canadian forces, explained, swooping in like some maple-flavoured Superman to save the day with diplomacy and a velvet-gravel voice.

Around them the exhausted soldiers enjoyed the lull in battle to apply medi-gel, stimulants and a last swig of whiskey to settle their nerves. Not exactly protocol on the last, but most of these soldiers had been fighting in arenas from Sydney to Toronto to Auckland to finally London. The epicentre of hell was here, the Reapers too scared shitless to use Australia because the Diggers had made it too hot to handle and even giant space-prawns couldn’t scan through old filled-in mines and other underground bunkers. It was now or never, the last battle of a six-month Ragnarok, and as always the crucial element would be the ANZACs.

“We don’t have time to get into a pissing match over rank!” the cockatoo argued. On another day, Regan would have agreed with him, but if she was going to lead people to hell then she’d be at the forefront like some fucking Aussie archangel.

“Then listen to the expert. We have to take what used to be the Palace of Westminster, following narrow twisted pathways of wrecked metal and rubble, and pay for every inch in blood,” Kaidan answered calmly. “The ANZACs, led by Colonel Shepard and her second Major Parata, are specialists when it comes to that shit. The Canadians will sweep up behind them. What’s your company, Commander Arturus?”

“Palaven Four.”

“Then do what you do best and lay suppression fire on the Brutes and Cannibals.”

The turian nodded tightly, regarding Shepard with a glare. “As you wish…?”

“Major Kaidan Alenko, what’s left of Canadian High Command.”

“Thanks. When we get out of this, I’ll put a commendation in for you with Admiral Hackett.” The turian regarded Regan dourly again before turning to face his men, exhorting them to kick space-prawn arse. Regan listened for a moment, admittedly impressed with his rhetoric, before Major Ngaire Parata punched her on the shoulder.

“Showtime, Bushfire,” the Maori soldier said with a grin. “You’d better make some kind of speech before we go in there.”

Ngaire had been the one at her back since the Reapers decimated Sydney, the Major having been there for a joint military exercise with a battalion of New Zealand’s finest. She’d been the one to give Regan the callsign of ‘Bushfire’ both for her red-orange hair and the ‘kill it with fire’ strategy that took down a Reaper in the Blue Mountains back in Australia. In return, Regan called Ngaire ‘Jumper’ after the Maori woman leapt onto a Brute’s back and killed it with her military-issue knife. They both called Kaidan, who joined them in the Toronto arena, ‘Boy Scout’ because somehow he managed to maintain a sense of honour and basic human decency in these most desperate of times.

Regan responded with an upraised middle finger, earning a chuckle from Ngaire, before looking towards what was left of the Anzac-Canadian forces. “I’m not gonna sugar-coat the orders we just got,” she announced bluntly. “We’re to take the stage for the final run to the Crucible and hold it so Williams can get shit finished. With General Oates’ death, I’m in charge. Don’t worry, I’m as traumatised at the news as the rest of you are.”

General Oates wasn’t the sort of strategic genius that Hackett and Anderson were, but she’d managed mostly by having Regan and Ngaire (and later Kaidan) interpreting her orders creatively. Her specialty had been requisition and coordination, arenas Regan admittedly sucked in, and if they survived long enough to rebuild, her loss would be keenly felt. But they didn’t have time to mourn because it was now or never.

“So in other words, we need to prove the old military adage that if we need to take hell, send in the Aussies to take it and the Kiwis to hold it true. The Canadians will do the polite thing, as they always do, and clean up behind us. If we find some Poms, I’m sure we’ll make them useful.”

Some snickers broke out at that comment. It was a Commonwealth tradition to take the piss out of each other, but most especially the British. Regan had never met a UK officer who didn’t need a boot up the arse for good reason, though David Anderson was the only one she really respected.

“We made Australia and New Zealand too hot for our giant space-prawn friends to hold! At the Blue Mountains, we put one of those fuckers on the barbie! They came to London for the final showdown because everything in Australia down to the insects had a good shot at fucking killing them! So let’s show these bastards why you do _not_ fuck with the Commonwealth!”

Probably not the greatest speech, though Regan thought the line about putting the Reapers on the barbie was inspired, but it got the soldiers worked up and ready to storm hell itself. She took a deep breath and a final swig of flat water before putting on her helmet, cranking up the volume of the music she fought to, to block out the sensory overload of battle, and led them forward towards the Palace of Westminster.

Somewhat appropriately, DragonForce’s ‘Through the Fire and Flames’ was playing as they hit the front lines of the Brutes and Cannibals, creatures that had been krogans and batarians before becoming huskified. Regan fired up her biotics and tore off one bandolier of grenades she wore, triggering them with multiple mass effect fields before flinging it at the tight cluster of Brutes that held the centre of the first line. Ten grenades went off, fire-flowers that dropped shrapnel petals, and cut down two of the four Brutes. Ngaire’s SMG made short work of the third while Kaidan Lifted the last and drove it headfirst into a tangle of Cannibals, sky-blue light casting odd shadows over the wreckage of wires and twisted flesh.

Through the fire and flames Regan charged, going forward because that was what Australians did when all hell was to break loose, trusting to her mates to watch her back as she took on the enemies she could. When she ran out of bullets from her assault rifle, she pulled out the SMG and used that until there was no more ammo, then fell back to her trusty sniper rifle as the assembled fleets of the galaxy carried the battle overhead. The cacophony of carnage and conflict was visual only, heavy metal music her soundtrack to the personal war movie that her existence had turned into, and she became the conductor of destruction for a band of soldiers hell-bent on righteous revenge.

Inch by inch, blood red and blue covered the ground as the Commonwealth and Palaven Four troops advanced, mingled with stranger hues from the Reapers’ cannon fodder. Inch by inch Regan advanced, knowing that she lost friends with every step, knowing that something might finish her any moment but going forward because to flinch would be to fail. Inch by inch, calling upon the legends of Gallipoli, Tobruk and the Kokoda Trail, the Anzacs entered hell and bent it to their will.

They reached the ruined Palace of Westminster and reinforced a failing company of Poms led by Major Coates, who looked almost grateful to see Regan and friends, and then held against seemingly endless waves of Cannibals and Banshees until Ashley Williams came in, guns blazing and two mates – one a turian and the other only the gods fucking knew what it was – at her back. Admiral Anderson was on her coattails and between them, they secured the site, cleaning up what the Commonwealth troops had begun.

Regan pulled off her helmet and inhaled the air, smelling of smoke and stranger fumes, like it was the fresh salty breeze off the Brisbane Coast. When she turned around, she saw that she’d lost a full third of her soldiers, and wiped at the hot tears which threatened to spill. It was all or nothing this bitter day of last judgment. Everything… or annihilation.

Williams was conferencing with Anderson, everyone ignoring the Anzacs because they weren’t actively saving the world’s arses at the moment, and the troop transports were dropping krogans, asari and turians. The whatthefuck who followed Williams in approached the Commonwealth troops, looking almost impressed; his four eyes blinked in unison as slit nostrils flared.

“The fuck are you?” Regan said, probably the same phrase used during a human’s first contact with a cockatoo and therefore triggering the First Contact War, as she rummaged around for a strawberry-flavoured protein bar.

“I am a Prothean,” the alien responded calmly.

“Uh huh,” Regan said sceptically. After seeing what he did to a Brute, she was just going to smile and nod.

“You are doubtful. I do not blame you.” The Prothean almost smiled. “I thought very few humans knew how to make proper war, but you – you killed a Reaper almost on your own. Even Ashley needed a giant thresher maw and the quarian fleet to match that.”

“The space-prawns were idiotic enough to attack Australia during summer,” Regan answered grimly, finding her canteen and washing out the taste of bile from her mouth. “Tinder-dry, the trees are, and one little spark can cause an inferno.”

“Indeed.” The Prothean sounded approving. “It will soon be over, one way or the other, but from one warrior to another, I salute you and yours.”

Regan found herself saluting the green-skinned alien and received one in return before he rejoined Williams, who gave him a lover’s smile and included him in the conversation. The Australian shook her head slowly before feeling the greater biotic field of Kaidan brush against her own meagre one.

“Major Coates will be joining us for the final push,” he told her quietly.

“He’s welcome to join the fun,” she replied, raking greasy orange-blonde hair from her eyes.

“You’re too kind,” Coates said as he replaced heat-sinks in his assault rifle.

Regan found the strawberry-flavoured protein bar and devoured it before checking her equipment. She had one more bandolier of grenades, four heat-sinks, and her omni-tool left. Her amp was still running good, her few wounds weren’t anything to worry about, and medi-gel slapped on her bruised shoulder made it usable.

“One more push and it will be over,” Kaidan said with a heavy sigh, rubbing his prematurely grey hair. He was a fine-looking man even ten years since their one-night stand in Vancouver and Regan wondered for a moment if he was still a good kisser. “What will you do when it’s over, Bushfire?”

“Be dead or pissed as a fart,” she admitted candidly. “You, Boy Scout?”

“Probably the same,” he agreed with a soft laugh. “Though, I’d like it if you got drunk with me.”

“Only if you kiss me for luck,” Regan found herself responding. Fuck the rules about fraternisation because they were already in hell.

A heartbeat later Kaidan was kissing her like they could die any moment (true), stealing the breath from her lungs (good way to die if she went right now) and proving that yes, he was still a good kisser (thank the gods).

“If I have to enter hell, then I will do so at your side,” he murmured after they stopped because breathing was necessary.

“Who’s in charge around here?” Admiral Anderson was asking.

“That’ll be me, sir,” Regan said, reluctantly letting go of Kaidan. She was going to look him up when the war was done.

“Regan Shepard? Well, I’ll be damned.” Anderson had tried talking her into N-School but Special Forces really wasn’t Regan’s style. She was Aussie born and bred, preferring to stay within her nation’s military and probably dying there unless she got exploded by a giant space-prawn today.

“Takes more than a giant space-prawn to kill me,” Regan told him with a grin. “Hell, we barbequed one in the Blue Mountains.”

“That was you?” Anderson shook his head in amazement. “I should have figured you’d be too damn stubborn to die.”

“Same goes for you, sir.” Regan finished her canteen of water and refilled it from a Mako’s water-tank. “Orders?”

“We’re going to be the spearhead for Williams and team to reach the Crucible,” Anderson promptly replied. “I won’t lie, Shepard – this may very well be ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ stuff.”

“Just so long as it’s for a better fucking reason than Gallipoli,” Regan countered. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Anderson quickly explained that the Crucible wasn’t firing and because Prothean technology responded to Williams like she was Prothean – and her boyfriend Javik was a real one – they needed to get in and fire the damn thing.

Regan sighed and nodded. “Alright, that makes sense.”

“Good. We head out in ten.”

What was left of the Commonwealth forces gathered at Regan’s gesture. “This is apparently the final ‘final’ push of the campaign,” she announced to the soldiers. “Apparently the Crucible hasn’t fired yet and they need a Space Yank to pull the trigger. Our job, as always, will be to kick down the gates of hell, hold the damned things open, and let the Yanks come in and say they won the war.”

“I love how parochialism still festers in the human psyche,” Regan heard Williams mutter in the background.

“At least she isn’t making reference to your ancestry,” the turian, whose name was Galahrus or something, pointed out helpfully.

“I guess so,” Williams admitted with a sigh.

Regan didn’t give a fuck about Williams’ ancestry. She cared more about the fact that thousands – _millions_ – had died and more still would because they needed the first human Spectre in place.

“’But ours is not to reason why, ours is to do and die’, to paraphrase Tennyson. Once again we will take hell and hold it because when it comes to the crunch, that’s what the Anzacs do. I only hope that unlike Gallipoli or the Charge of the Light Brigade, this isn’t going to be some Pommy fuck-up that leaves most of us dead. We’re the ones who made Australia and New Zealand too hot to handle, so we – and the Canadians and the Brits – are going to be the ones who make the giant space-prawns wish they’d never crawled out of a thousand miles from the arse-end of nowhere. So, shall the Commonwealth show the rest of the Alliance – and the galaxy – how it’s done?”

“Fuckin’ oath we will!” yelled one of the Aussie soldiers as everyone else cheered and for a moment, Regan let her heart swell with pride. The Yanks might have the bigger guns but when it came down to it, the Commonwealth troops had more guts.

She put on her helmet and activated the breathing filters in case they wound up in space. “Last one to the Reapers has to buy the first shout!” she yelled before turning to lead her soldiers into the jaws of red bloody hell.


	4. Don't Mess with a Digger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urdnot Wreav thinks he's entitled to Australia after helping save Earth from the Reapers. Colonel Regan Shepard demonstrates why it's a very bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! This one-shot was inspired by the comment Wreav makes about wanting Australia and a conversation me (as an Aussie) had with two other friends. Trigger warnings for death, violence and fantastic racism. Modified Destroy ending where Ashley’s up and about.

“…The price of my assistance for Earth is… Australia.”

Colonel Regan Shepard of the 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment (Queensland Mounted Infantry), based out of Enoggera Barracks in Queensland, was repairing one of her guns when the big-arse krogan Wreav made his demand of Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams, Humanity’s First Spectre and Saviour of the Galaxy. Much to Regan’s horror, the Spectre looked like she was seriously considering it. As in all things, the Alliance forgot about Australia until they needed the Diggers to save their arses _again._

Regan Shepard was the highest-ranking member of the Australian part of the Alliance forces left. They and the Kiwi forces had taken and held the beachheads necessary for the combined galactic navy to get the Crucible in place while the Canadians and the Poms led the charge (just behind Ashley Williams’ squad) to arm the thing. Judging by the expressions of Canadian Major Kaidan Alenko, the New Zealanders’ Major Ngaire Parata, and the British Major Coates, none of them were impressed by Wreav and Regan knew she had a hell of a lot of backup.

“Hey, Wreav – it’s Wreav, right? – You ever study Terran military history?” she asked after picking up her SMG and loading it with Warp Ammo, the only thing that could shred a krogan short-range. Regan had made her name against the Reapers by using a sniper rifle and precision biotics, but she could use the SMG if she had to.

The krogan looked in her direction as Williams raised an eyebrow. “Can we help you?” the Spectre asked.

“I said, has your friend studied Terran military history?” Regan repeated, lips spreading in an expression that could never be called a smile.

“No, I haven’t,” Wreav replied before Williams could speak. “Why?”

“Colonel Regan Shepard of the 2nd/14th Light Horse Regiment, Queensland Mounted Infantry, Australian Army,” the Colonel answered coolly. “Every beachhead established today was taken by the Australians and held by our New Zealander allies. Our other traditional allies, the Canadians and the British, led the charge to the Crucible. Do you want to know why the Reapers chose _London_ as their place to make a stand?”

“Why?” Wreav growled.

“Because we made it too fucking hard for them to hold Australia. We mostly live on the fringes of the coasts with only a few mining operations and towns in the middle. The Australian First Nations know their land like the back of their hands and so we were able to play hit and run with the Reapers because we could hide where they couldn’t reach us.”

Regan could hear Kaidan’s quiet chuckle at Wreav’s suddenly wary expression and reminded herself to catch up with him when the war was over. “Erwin Rommel, one of the greatest generals of the Second World War, once said: ‘If I had to take hell, I would use the Australians to take it and the New Zealanders to hold it.’ He also said,” Regan looked to the Maori Ngaire with a smile, “’Give me two Maori battalions and I will conquer the world’.”

“Erwin Rommel fought against us, you see, at the Battle of Tobruk and in northern Africa,” Ngaire added, folding her muscular brown arms. “Australia and New Zealand give each other shit all the time, but when it comes to the crunch, we stand together.”

“That’s not to mention the fact that Australia has the most species of venomous snakes and spiders in the world,” Kaidan pointed out in that lovely rasping voice of his.

“Krogan are immune to most poisons and toxins,” Wreav growled. “And I’ve fought enemies who ran and hid before. If your Alliance agrees to this, you will be traitors and I will be able to execute you as I see fit.”

“The Kokoda Trail. We were fighting the Japanese in World War 2 and they tried to come into Australia through Papua New Guinea,” Regan continued, meeting the krogan’s beady little eyes. “Inch by inch, it was soaked in blood. Inch by inch, we made the Japanese fight for it. And in the end, they didn’t reach Australia.”

“Australians are called ‘Diggers’ because once they dig in, they’re like burrs in your arse, - well, that’s my theory anyway,” Major Coates added grimly. “Australians don’t quit until you’ve killed every last one of them or the job is done. I’d rather have the Australians at my back as allies than as my enemy.”

Wreav leaned down, snout almost touching Regan’s nose, in an attempt to intimidate her. “Krogan destroyed the rachni. What do you think will happen to a few humans?”

Regan responded by head-butting him, grateful she was wearing her helmet. The visor still cracked and she picked up a bruise on her forehead, but Wreav staggered back – more from shock than actual damage. Then she used her SMG to put a few bullets in the krogan’s knee-joints, effectively laming him, and finished by putting the rest of the magazine’s worth of ammo into his chest.

“We’ll fight dirty and make sure you’re too hurt to hold Australia,” she told the krogan as he struggled to rise, popping the SMG to put a new magazine in. “Feeling lucky, mate?”

Given that the red light of the SMG was pointed at Wreav’s head, even the krogan could get the point of her question.

Wreav growled something, probably an obscenity, and managed to drag himself back to his krogan guard – who didn’t look that impressed with him.

“Somehow I think there’s going to be a change of leadership amongst the krogan,” Kaidan murmured quietly as Williams turned her back on the aliens from Tuchanka to address Regan.

“Good job, Colonel,” the Spectre said approvingly. “You and your friends said what I was going to, only much better.”

She walked off, no doubt to oversee something and left the four standing there with a group of awed krogan staring at them. Finally, one of them – a bluish-grey one who looked a lot younger than the rest – stepped forth.

“Williams is my Battlemaster. If she respects you, you must be a Battlemaster at the least. My name is Urdnot Grunt.”

“Colonel Regan Shepard, currently the highest-ranking military officer in the Australian Alliance forces,” Regan responded, holstering her SMG with some relief. “My friends are Major Kaidan Alenko, commander of the Canadian Alliance forces; Major Ngaire Parata, commander of the New Zealand forces; and Major Coates, who still hasn’t given me his first name, who now leads the British forces.”

“John,” Coates said mildly. “You never asked.”

Grunt looked thoughtful. “You are all warlords then.”

“Not exactly by choice, but yeah. Most of High Command was wiped out by the Reapers.” Regan looked to her friends. “We lost the rest during the push for London. If anyone in the Commonwealth portion of the Alliance ranks us, then they’re on the ships.”

Grunt nodded. “I have no wish to fight against a warlord who made their territory too hard for the Reapers to hold.”

The krogan stepped back and returned to his unit, calmly drawing his own SMG and riddling Wreav with bullets until the injured krogan breathed his last. “Does anyone object to me becoming Warlord of Clan Urdnot?”

Wisely, no one debated Grunt’s right to lead and Regan breathed a sigh of relief. The krogan would stick to Tuchanka, she assumed.

“Stop standing around and let’s get to work,” she said to the others. “Just because the Reapers are done for doesn’t mean the fun is over.”

Until civilian government could be reinstated, the military was in charge, and that meant Regan had a metric shit tonne of work to oversee. _No rest for the wicked,_ she thought ruefully as Kaidan offered his arm half-flirtingly, half-mockingly. _No rest at all…_


	5. A Harder Road to Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan Alenko and Regan Shepard have survived the Reaper War. But some scars are too deep for them to face by themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for depression and survivor’s guilt. Some implied sexual intercourse.

Even sleeping, Kaidan was the consummate gentleman, his body shielding Regan from the cold wall and letting her take the side nearest to the heater. Outside the small prefab house that replaced the old farmhouse blown up by Reapers, the autumn wind sighed through the apple trees which would need to be harvested soon, the maple leaves already red and gold from the first frost. In his more poetic moments, Kaidan compared her orange-blonde hair to autumn leaves and Regan humoured him, though she knew that it looked like a bad peroxide job on dark tresses. She was no prize and sometimes, especially moments like this with Kaidan curled up protectively around her, she wondered what Reaper had hit her maple-flavoured Superman in the head to make him love her.

Once awake, Regan had trouble falling asleep, so she rolled out of bed to let Kaidan enjoy the warmth for a bit. Four years after the Reaper War ended, fresh food was still scarce so the cupboards were stocked with MREs and other survival rations where they weren’t filled by jars of apple jam, apple jelly, apple butter, applesauce, apple conserve, apple pie filling, apple cider syrup, pickled apple slices and apple molasses. Then there were the bottles of apple cider, apple cider vinegar and apple liqueur... And bags of dried apple slices. Regan had become very adept at preserving apples in all the twenty or so ways it could be done.

It was like living in Tasmania, just minus the Tasmanian Devils.

Breakfast, as always, was muesli bars served up with reconstituted skim milk. Richer people than they got to have fresh milk and things like bacon while poorer people were lucky to have the skim milk powder and muesli bars. Regan tossed in a spoonful of coffee powder and hot water because Kaidan without his morning coffee was frankly unbearable. She settled, as always, for the cold milk-water mix and gnawing on a couple muesli bars.

The siren call of freshly made coffee brought Kaidan out of his slumber quicker than true love’s kiss. Come to think of it, for just-woke-up Kaidan, that probably _was_ true love’s kiss. When he was awake and with a coffee in him, that was the safe time to approach him for a morning kiss.

Kaidan shambled around like a zombie until he found the coffee on the steel dining table, Regan having retreated into the shower until it would be safe to emerge. When she came out, he was scratching his head bemusedly, sparks of blue light from his biotic field crackling around his fingers. “I’m thinking of breeding varrens,” he announced suddenly. “I want steaks again.”

“Know anyone who’d trade a few breeding pairs for several tonnes of preserved apple goods?” Regan asked dryly. “Because we don’t have the credits to buy them.”

“Apparently New Zealand is covered in varrens, so Ngaire’s offering us some,” Kaidan replied, just as dryly.

“What happened, they eat all the sheep?” Regan dried her hair and reached for her jacket. “You enjoy your coffee. I’ll start picking apples.”

Turned out biotics were useful for more than just throwing people around and lifting things. Regan, who could manage three weak mass effect fields, could strip an apple-laden tree in a minute while Kaidan Lifted massive bins of the fruit she harvested into storage silos to be sorted. They kept the crappy stuff for themselves, giving the wormy rotten apples to the neighbours up the road for their pigs and varrens, preserved half and traded the rest. In the British Columbia interior, barter had become a way of life again because, as always, they worked on rebuilding the cities first and that was where the cash was.

Of course, Kaidan was out in under a minute, probably having tossed back his coffee like a college student doing shots. He apparently couldn’t stand the thought of Regan working on her own for more than a few moments. They fell into the familiar rhythm of harvesting and hauling apples for the better part of the morning before stopping for brunch, which was freshly pressed apple juice and protein bars, and then going onto pressing cider as a break.

“We need to sell some of our cider and liqueur,” Regan announced. “Because if I see one more bottle of apple-flavoured stuff and can’t get credits for it…”

“Huh, we could send bottles to Admiral Hackett,” Kaidan mused thoughtfully. “If he likes it, the brass will be drinking it in no time.”

“You handle the military bureaucracy better than I do,” Regan agreed before returning to work.

They toiled in silence, returning to harvesting as the sun crept towards the western horizon, turning the sky red to match the maple leaves. Regan had her regrets about refusing a place on the Alliance General Staff but when she looked at Kaidan, his handsome face serene as he worked his grandfather’s land, she didn’t mind them so much.

Six months of soul searching, working and wrangling led them to where they were. Regan learned not to call turians cockatoos to their faces and Kaidan developed an appreciation for the various meanings of the word ‘piss’ in Australian English. They still had their moments – no one was perfect – but she could live with where they were now.

Dinner was Beef Stroganoff MRE with an apple pie for dessert. Kaidan was a good cook, better than Regan, and he managed to make military rations delicious. If she ever saw another strawberry-flavoured protein bar, she’d probably go insane.

They made love after dinner, Kaidan dozing off as Regan watched the bars of the heater glow orange in the darkness. It was now the doubts and regrets tended to attack, reminding her of the military that had been her entire life ever since she left the gangs, questioning what Kaidan saw in her, even wondering if she’d made the right choices in the Reaper War. She’d led so many soldiers to their deaths because she wanted to test herself against the Reapers, to prove that just because she’d been too chicken shit to enter the N7 programme she was still a good soldier.

Angry with herself, Regan got out of bed and pulled on Kaidan’s old Biotic Division jacket. She was alive where others weren’t – why couldn’t she be happy with that? Why did she have to question every fucking good thing that was in her life? Kaidan seemed happy, even content, though they still both had nightmares from when the Reapers attacked. Why couldn’t she put herself in the same frame of mind?

She stared into the orange glow of the heater as the hours slipped by.

…

“Regan, you need to see a therapist.”

Kaidan took a deep breath and made the announcement after seeing a bleary-eyed Regan wrapped in his old jacket stare into the heater, obviously not getting any sleep. The depression was kicking in more often, the Australian refusing to articulate her feelings even though she knew Kaidan would stand by her every step of the way. Shepard was stubborn and self-reliant, the flipside of the Antipodean ‘she’ll be right’ attitude meaning she would try to plod on alone until she fell apart.

Part of it might be the fact their lives were an endless cycle of tending apple trees, eating the same military crap that called itself food and pretty much only hearing from their friends now and then. Kaidan knew very well that Regan turned down a position on the General Staff for his dream of working on the orchard – and he knew that at the heart of it, she was at her best in a crisis, making snap decisions that changed the face of the battlefield and shooting someone in the face if need be. Humanity had too few leaders, both military and civilian, for the woman who essentially won the Pacific stage of the Reaper War and helped Ashley Williams get to the Crucible to moulder on a farm.

“You’re right,” Regan admitted, as if she’d brooded all night and lost the battle with her will. “I should be happy: I got a good man and I survived the Reaper War. But I can’t get rid of the feeling I should have done better and how many died because I got into a pissing match with the Reapers.”

“We did the best we could with what we had,” Kaidan told her softly. “I know it’s a platitude, but it’s true.”

“You tell me that, Ngaire tells me that and even Hackett stopped by to say it,” Regan answered heavily. “Maybe if someone with a Doctor in front of their name tells me, I’ll believe it.”

The Australian got to her feet. “Let’s harvest the rest of those apples before the frost ruins them.”

They managed to get the last of the apples in and that night, frost hit hard and iced over their solar panels, meaning that the next day was spent in defrosting them. Kaidan fired off a message to Ngaire and Hackett while Regan was in the shower, asking for advice on a good therapist for a traumatised veteran. Time to make use of some of their VA entitlements.

Next morning over breakfast, Kaidan told her that Sha’ira, an asari therapist who worked out of Vancouver these days, was available to see her in two days. Regan, whose casual racism had never extended to asari even before her attitude improved on working with aliens, simply sighed and nodded in agreement to see the Matriarch.

Two days later, Kaidan fired up their battered car and drove them into Vancouver after locking the orchard down. Regan looked like she was marching towards the firing squad instead of a therapist and he took her hand, clasping it to show his love for her. She smiled weakly at him as they walked into the shiny new Alliance HQ. Trust the military to build its infrastructure first.

Sha’ira was a graceful asari in a fine business suit, which no doubt made some of the soldiers _very_ happy to see her. Rumour was she’d been something called a ‘Consort’, the implications of which were none of Kaidan’s business, until the Citadel became the Crucible. Now she counselled traumatised soldiers while the mass relays to asari space were being rebuilt.

When Regan emerged an hour later, she still looked hag-ridden but there was a referral in her hand for psychiatric services. Then it was Kaidan’s turn to enter because Hackett had ordered him to go to therapy too, though the Canadian was fairly certain he had no need of it.

Sha’ira gently but firmly walked Kaidan through the Reaper War, dredging up old pain that he’d buried deep. Being told that his hero complex was a result of Brain Camp and his need to be a ‘good guy’ stung more than he would; he’d moved on with that shit, or so he thought. Or so he thought…

An hour later, feeling like he’d been wrung dry, Kaidan exited the office to find Admiral Hackett talking quietly to Regan. “-I know you’re retired, but if you’re up to it, we could use a new training instructor here in Vancouver,” the supreme commander of the Alliance’s few forces said, looking over at Kaidan. “The N7 programme is being relocated here because the facilities in Brazil were utterly devastated.”

Regan’s eyebrow shot up. “You’d want me to oversee the N7 programme even though I was too chicken shit to go through it?”

“Not the programme itself, though you’d be certainly instructing its members in unconventional and improvised tactics, but the training facility and its staff would answer to you – like your old friend Major Patel back in Enoggera.”

“Patel was a good man,” Regan mused softly. “Always figured if I couldn’t be a David Anderson, I’d be like him or my old foster carer Matilda.”

“It’s soldiers like Patel that help us find the Andersons, the Williams and the Vegas,” Hackett agreed quietly.

Regan took a deep breath. “I’m going into therapy,” she informed the Admiral. “Sha’ira diagnosed me with chronic depression.”

“I know. I received the diagnosis, though not the medical particulars, shortly after the appointment ended, because I wanted to see if you were fit for duty,” Hackett admitted. “If you’re not up to this, Shepard, I completely understand.”

She flicked Kaidan a quick look and he smiled. “I think you can do it if we can have a few months to get ready,” he told her. “Sha’ira suggested I hire a few vets for the farm because she told me I was working myself into the ground trying to be a hero.”

“Mr. Maple-Flavoured Superman,” Regan teased.

If anyone else called him that, he’d have to Charge them. But coming from her, it was a tolerable nickname.

“It will take a few months to set up,” Hackett said quietly. “Just… have a think about it, Shepard.”

She nodded. “I will,” she promised, saluting Hackett.

When they left the HQ, Regan looked up at the iron-grey sky. “I want to do this,” she admitted.

“Then do so. I have to admit, I’ve been missing city life.” The look of surprise Regan gave him made Kaidan grin. “What?”

“You seemed happy there and I didn’t want to make you feel unhappy.” Regan hugged herself, shoulder-length red-gold hair stirred by the cool breeze. “To be frank, I’m fucking sick of apples.”

Kaidan laughed. “Miss the strawberry-flavoured protein bars, do you?”

“I fucking hate those too. Reminds me of the war.”

Her stark admission wiped the laughter from Kaidan’s voice. When Regan was vulnerable, she was really vulnerable. “Then we’ll stay here for a couple days, see if we can afford some steak and fresh food that isn’t apples, and talk about the future?”

Regan smiled faintly. “I could do that.”

Kaidan entwined his fingers with hers. “It’ll be a tougher road than I thought for both of us, but there’s no one else I’d rather walk it with.”

“Agreed.” Regan leaned over and kissed him before looking over her referral papers. “Let’s get these appointments made.”

As he had during the Reaper War, Kaidan let Regan take charge. It would be a long, hard, rocky road ahead of them but hopefully they’d walk it together.


	6. Lest We Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we will remember them."
> 
> A chance encounter with others prompts Regan to recall those who died in the Reaper War.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. My muse has managed to squeeze out one more story for the Digger!verse based on the Australian ANZAC Day services, which feature both the Ode and the saying ‘Lest We Forget’. Trigger warning for discussion of implied cannibalism, depression and fantastic racism.

“Don’t eat it. It’s made of people.”

Kaidan Alenko nearly choked on a mouthful of his organic free range varren steak as his wife-to-be, showing the same wicked gleam in her eye she’d displayed when biotically pantsing the Marine who would become one of Cerberus’ most feared assassins, quoted from an old vid and made the turian guest at the buffet spit out his dextro steak substitute. Then he kicked Regan under the table, receiving an unrepentant look in reply, and leaned over to smile sympathetically at the alien. “Don’t mind her. She likes to quote old vids at the most awkward of times.”

“ _Soylent Green_?” the quarian, who was forced to turn what looked like a delicious array of foods into a bland medicinal-looking liquid before sucking it up through a straw, asked curiously.

“I think so. Vintage sci-fi isn’t to my taste.” Regan kicked him in response, no doubt expressing her displeasure at his lack of taste in entertainment, and Kaidan smiled winningly at her.

“You know, when the Migrant Fleet first encountered that vid, we thought it was historical,” the quarian continued, tone as bland as her dinner. “Possibly because until we got our first proper liveship, the Fleet was forced to recycle _everything._ And I do mean _everything_.”

“Remind me not to eat the green food on a quarian ship,” Regan replied with a grin.

“I wouldn’t eat _any_ food on a quarian ship if I were you,” the turian advised sourly. “Being levo and all…”

“I would make the suggestion because most of it tastes like shit,” the quarian said cheerfully. “You have _no_ idea what retaking Rannoch meant for us.”

“Getting your home back’s always a good thing,” Regan agreed, leaning back in the metal seat. Five years after the Reaper War and a relatively sedentary job, she had a layer of fat that softened her wiry form and a few laugh lines around her bright blue eyes to match the lines of pain around that wide, thin-lipped mouth. “How’s rebuilding going?”

“Aside from the damage the Reaper did, most of the infrastructure was kept intact by the geth and so we were able to get it up and running fairly quickly,” the quarian replied. “We’re very good at improvising and making do.”

Kaidan looked around the moderately expensive restaurant in Vancouver where the military brass of the Council liked to eat and saw a familiar bottle of cider on an asari’s table. “Hey, they stock our cider!” he announced excitedly, like a little boy who’s found an unexpected present under the Christmas tree.

Regan looked over her shoulder and grinned. “The expensive one too.”

“Sorry,” Kaidan apologised to the dextro-amino couple as he returned to his steak. “I run an apple orchard in the B.C. interior and we diversified into cider a couple years ago, so I tend to get a little bit excited when I see one of the bottles.”

“If it’s made from apples around here, it came from the Alenko orchards,” Regan added proudly. Once she’d returned to working for the Alliance, she became a lot more cheerful about the orchard and its products, her lack of enthusiasm for the farming life something Kaidan used to miss because it was buried under the depression.

“It’s fine,” the quarian said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Every victory in these times is to be celebrated and savoured.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Kaidan agreed with a smile. It sounded like something Sha’ira would say.

“You look vaguely familiar,” the turian noted. “And not just because you both have a military bearing.”

“We were in the London campaign,” Kaidan answered cagily.

“So were we!” the quarian said excitedly. “Williams pulled off a hell of a victory.”

“Only because the Alliance Commonwealth Division Forces cleared the way to the Crucible,” Kaidan pointed out before Regan could. He knew that people needed to place a face on victory and that face was Admiral Ashley Williams, granddaughter of a man believed to be a traitor to humanity when he surrendered at Shanxi and the first human Spectre, but it still galled him that heroes like Regan, Coates and Parata were all swept up under the ‘Alliance Military’ banner at the yearly VRW parades.

“And Palaven Four covering the ACDF,” Regan added quietly, much to Kaidan’s surprise. Her casual racism, a regrettable feature of Australian culture that many of them were prone to, wasn’t as bad as it was but she still voted for pro-Earth independent candidates in the election.

“Not many people remember Palaven Four under Commander Arturus,” the turian said sadly. “We were part of the same year in our military training and learning his entire command got wiped out during the last push was devastating.”

“Oh, hell,” Regan breathed as Kaidan’s heart twisted. “I didn’t know that.”

“I’m going to assume you two were in the ACDF?” the turian asked.

“Yeah.” Regan sighed explosively. “Arturus walked in, attempted to take over my command and it went downhill from there, I’m sad to say. To know he died covering our arses… Well, I dunno how you turians do it, but I’ll lay a wreath for Palaven Four on ANZAC Day.”

“The traditional day of remembrance for Australian and New Zealander military casualties,” Kaidan explained quietly. “Commander Arturus wasn’t familiar with how the ANZACs operated, because they still have ranks like Colonel, which is between Major and General.”

“Arturus was a hell of a soldier but a complete ass into the bargain,” the turian responded regretfully.

“Regan wasn’t much better during the war.” Kaidan hid the wince from the kick his wife gave him under the table at the unvarnished truth.

The turian’s mandibles flapped. “Colonel Regan Shepard?”

“Yes,” Regan admitted, fork toying with the leftovers of her spaghetti aglio e olio.

“You have no idea how many problems you averted when you shot Urdnot Wreav,” the turian said fervently. “Urdnot Bakara and Urdnot Grunt took over with the krogan and, thank the spirits, they’ve got them on an even keel.”

“Good to know,” Regan answered, a little taken aback by the gratitude in the turian’s voice.

The alien extended a hand. “Allow me to introduce myself: Councillor Garrus Vakarian.”

Regan shook the three-fingered hand briefly. “Colonel Regan Shepard. I run the Special Combat and Tactics programme at Anderson Barracks.”

Kaidan was relieved she didn’t blurt out Galahrus or any other bird-related joke. He loved Regan, he really did, but tact wasn’t one of her strong points.

“It’s a pleasure to meet an Australian who isn’t making cockatoo jokes,” Garrus said as he withdrew his hand. “They were sort of amusing at the beginning but now very unfunny.”

“I remember you now, Councillor. You were on Williams’ squad with the Prothean guy,” Regan said, displaying hitherto unknown powers of diplomacy.

“Javik,” the turian confirmed. “I would like you to meet my wife Tali’Zorah vas Normandy.”

“A pleasure,” the quarian said, shaking hands with Regan and Kaidan.

“The handsome apple farmer is my partner Kaidan Alenko,” Regan introduced as Kaidan shook Garrus’ hand.

“Arturus put in a commendation for you because of your interpersonal skills,” Garrus noted.

“Damn,” Kaidan said, feeling really awful he’d never chased up on the fate of Palaven Four.

“I’ll get in contact with your people about a joint service on ANZAC Day,” Regan promptly added. “Palaven Four deserves it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Garrus agreed. “I’ll pass it onto Primarch Victus.”

They fell into silence as Kaidan finished his steak. As silences went, it wasn’t too awkward, but he was still relieved when the dextro-amino couple stood up to pay. This might have been the budget part of the restaurant with its all you can eat buffet, but they still charged gourmet prices because everything was, if not grown in the ground like Kaidan’s apples, still organic as in actually coming from things that were vegetable or animal. The ration bars the Alliance used were about three steps away from organic, being created from vat-grown proteins spliced from the unholy offspring of soybeans and edible plastic. Probably. The alternative was worse.

They made their farewells and left, Kaidan heaving a sigh of relief. That was the downside of eating at the only restaurant he and Regan could afford; tables were often so full that they shared with whoever showed up. This was _not_ the place to come for a romantic dinner.

They lingered over a dessert of vanilla ice cream and fresh tropical fruit, Kaidan’s experienced tongue noting the flat sweetness of fake vanilla essence. At least the fruit was real.

“I would have thought the Councillor would eat somewhere fancier,” Regan finally said as they rose to pay and leave.

“Scuttlebutt is that Vakarian’s a fairly simple man with simple tastes – and not a lot of the higher-end places in Vancouver serve dextro cuisine,” Kaidan reminded her. “You handled yourself well there, by the way.”

Regan shrugged. “I have turians in my face when I’m not yelling at wannabe N7s. You learn to bite your tongue a lot.”

Kaidan leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I’m proud of you.”

She blushed a bit under her tan. Despite her loud, brash nature, Regan was somewhat uncomfortable with public displays of intimacy, a quirk that Kaidan found rather adorable.

“So, how much time do you have off?” Kaidan asked with a slight smile. He had a hotel room and surely Regan wasn’t due back until-

Her omnitool rang, the installed programme belting out Cold Chisel’s ‘When the War is Over’. Regan’s love of late 20th Century Australian pub rock was almost proverbial at the Anderson Barracks. She brought up the call and it turned out to be Commander James Vega.

“What’s up?” Regan asked with a sigh.

“Good to see you too,” the musclebound Marine retorted dryly.

“I’m on leave until 06:00 tomorrow,” Regan told him. “So the barracks better be on fire.”

“Hey Vega,” Kaidan greeted mildly.

“Hey Lola, easy there,” Vega responded, holding up his hands. “Just letting you know that the Council’s going through names for Spectre and yours came up.”

“Tell Admirals Hackett and Williams ‘No’,” Regan retorted. “I got enough on my hands with those wannabe N7s.”

Vega looked surprised. “You’re happy to be parked on your ass in an administrative role?”

“Uh, yes.” Regan’s tone was very much ‘No shit, Sherlock’.

“Okay.” Vega said, shaking his head in bemusement. “Williams listens to me. Have fun on your conjugal visit, Lola.”

He hung up, leaving Regan rolling her eyes heavenwards as she dismissed her omnitool.

“Lola?” Kaidan asked.

“Vega likes to give people nicknames. Apparently I’m hot and kind of crazy.” Regan shook her head. “What the hell is wrong with people? I’m in a good place now. I helped save Earth. Like hell I’m gonna go and save the galaxy. Let someone else do it.”

“Hey, you’re still saving the galaxy,” Kaidan told her as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “You’re training the future Spectres. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Of course it did.” Regan let him hug her, then pointedly headed towards the hotel where Kaidan stayed when he was in Vancouver. It was cheaper than buying an apartment, because Regan always commuted to the farm on her long leaves while he came in when she had a few hours off. He missed having her there all the time but the… maybe not happiness but a certain _relief_ on her face made it worthwhile.

“I love you,” she said suddenly, eyeing him sideways as they walked.

“I love you too.” Kaidan smiled at her and she returned the expression with her usual stiffness.

Life wasn’t a fairy tale. Their happiness was a flower garden growing on the graves of those who didn’t make – Arturus, General Oates, Admiral Anderson and the billions of others who died throughout the galaxy. But from death came life and they would not be forgotten.

Much to his surprise, Regan passed by the hotel and walked to Memorial Plaza, stopping on the way to buy some flowers. She climbed the stairs to the eternal memorial flame that burned there and laid the flowers down at the foot of the plinth with the names of those of the ACDF who died in the Reaper War endlessly scrolling on the holographic interface. Bringing up her omnitool, Regan connected to the extranet and then, much to Kaidan’s quiet pride, added the names of the turian Palaven Four company who shared their charge to take hell and hold it.

_“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;_

_Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn._

_At the going down of the sun and in the morning_

_We will remember them.”_

As she did for every casualty on ANZAC Day, Regan recited the Ode, the verse from Laurence Binyon’s ‘For the Fallen’ that was used in Australian military memorial remembrances. Kaidan only knew this because she was assiduous about it.

“Lest we forget,” she finished with a salute to the memorial before turning away.

_Lest we forget,_ Kaidan agreed silently. The dead were gone but they would not be forgotten.

Never forgotten.


End file.
